Домашнее чтение на английском языке «The Murder of Roger Ackroyd»

Закрытый контент сайта. Chapter 14. My Sister Caroline Helps Poirot

On Tuesday morning Mrs. Ackroyd sent for me. She complained of feeling bad, but I understood that really she simply wanted to speak to me of the event; of the past days. She did not like Poirot and could not understand why Flora had asked him to investigate the murder.

When I was leaving, the maid Ursula Bourne was in the hall, and she helped me on with my overcoat. When I was ready to go out, she suddenly asked me, «Excuse me, sir, is there any news of Captain Paton?» I shook my head.

«He must come back,» she said. There was alarm in her eyes. «Does no one know where he is?» she asked.

«Do you know?» I asked.

«No, indeed,» she said. «I know nothing.» Her next question surprised me: «When do the police think the murder was done? Just before ten o’clock?»

«Between a quarter to ten and ten o’clock,» I said.

«Not earlier? Not before a quarter to ten?»

I looked at her attentively. She was very upset. It was clear to me that she wanted me to say that the time of the murder was before a quarter to ten. «No, not before,» I said. «Miss Ackroyd saw her uncle alive at a quarter to ten.»

She turned away.

When I came home, I found Caroline very pleased.
She said that Poirot had visited her. She looked very proud. «I am helping M. Poirot,» she said. «He wants me to find out something for him.»

«What is it?» I asked.

«He wants to know whether Ralph’s boots were black or brown.»

«They were brown shoes,» I said. «I saw them.»

«Not shoes, James, boots. M. Poirot wants to know whether Ralph’s boots which he had with him at the hotel were brown or black. A lot depends on it.»

I could not understand anything. I could not see why the colour of Ralph’s boots was important. And I did not know how Caroline was going to find it out. But she was sure that there were enough people whom she could ask to help her in this. And indeed, as we were sitting down to lunch, she said:

«About those boots of Ralph Paton’s.»

«Well,» I said. «What about them?»

«M. Poirot thought they were probably brown. He was wrong. They are black.» And she nodded her head several times very proudly.